Former Major Leaguer Dave Winfield sits during the MLB All-Star Game Celebrity Softball Game at Angel Stadium. MICHAEL BUCKNER, GETTY IMAGES

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ANAHEIM – Like everyone, Dave Winfield has triggers. Each All-Star Game is one, tripping the Hall of Fame outfielder up, sending him tumbling backward and landing him flat on his back in the soft, jelly-center of a baseball memory.

It also throws him against the cold cement of his greatest loss.

Just the mention of the 2010 All-Star Game at Angel Stadium gets his mind going. He recalls how he played parts of the 1990 and 1991 seasons as a California Angel and how Gene and Jackie Autry gave a ballplayer believed to be a broken-down New York Yankee a chance for a comeback on the West Coast.

Winfield, 58, recalls how he played in 12 All-Star Games in 12 seasons, from 1977-88, first as a San Diego Padre, later as a Yankee but always as a proud ballplayer whose mother made sure he would sport a generous heart.

His first Midsummer Classic came in Yankee Stadium, where "my eyes were wide open," he said, by the spectacle of the game.

His second was in San Diego, where he starred for the hometown Padres, who had drafted him fourth overall in 1973 and promoted him to the big leagues without having him take one swing in the minors. He bought dozens of tickets for local children and had practice opened so that his young fans could see their heroes before the big game.

His 12th and final All-Star Game feels as fresh as laundry pulled from the warm dryer. The man with a memory sharp enough to remember that he played his first game of catch on a St. Paul, Minn., playground with a six-finger Zoilo Versalles glove, hangs on the game's details: "1988, Cincinnati, Riverfront Stadium, had a hit, and mother was sick. Breast cancer had taken hold."

His voice faded like a foul ball drifting farther out of play.

The 1988 All-Star Game was the last game his mother, Arline Allison, attended to see her son play. A year of aggressive cancer treatments left the tiny woman, just an inch taller than 5 feet, too weak to walk.

She sat in a wheelchair in the stands. She insisted on being there "to celebrate with me," Winfield said. "That day was bittersweet. Later on that year she passed away."

She was "Ma" to Winfield and his brother, and to everyone in their St. Paul neighborhood. She raised her sons as a single mother since her divorce when Dave was 3.

"The person who instilled in me a desire to give back is my mother," he said. "When we had a little, we shared it. When he had more — well, we never had a lot — we shared it."

Inspired by his mother's charity, Winfield became the first active professional athlete to start a foundation. He provided college scholarships for minority student-athletes in his hometown. He started a drug rehabilitation program.

This past May, Winfield, who splits his time as a Padres VP and senior adviser and an ESPN "Baseball Tonight" analyst, signed on as the official spokesman for Ask.com's "Answers for the Cure" program.

He is rallying fans to check out the baseball-themed search page, ask.com/forthecure, to learn more about breast cancer. During 2010, Ask.com will contribute a dime for every visit to Susan G. Komen for the Cure to fund research, education, screening services and community outreach.

Winfield still remembers the day in 1987 when his Yankees were boarding the team bus after a game against the Minnesota Twins. His mother, then 63, told him that she had found a lump in her breast and was going to see the doctor later that day.

"I didn't know what to say because back then, you'd hear about cancer, but it was someone else who had it," Winfield said. "I couldn't tell you whether she went to the doctor or got checkups because we didn't have a lot of money. She put us first and nobody talked about self-exams and early detection."

Winfield, a mighty 6-feet-6 and 220 pounds, felt helpless. His talent made him a 12-time All-Star, got him seven Gold Gloves and earned him six Silver Slugger Awards. It would get him a 1992 World Series championship and some wall space in Cooperstown.

But he couldn't be his mother's savior. In his day, he was the game's highest-paid player, inking a 10-year, $23 million deal. He used his wealth and connections to get her extra days. Her cancer was so advanced at the time of detection, she would live only a year.

"I couldn't do a thing," said Winfield, frustrated that breast cancer is still without a cure 22 years later. "I'm going to try to use my influence and my celebrity to get the word out to continue to make a difference. I think my mother would be proud."

He still thinks about Ma, sitting in the stands, watching him the last time he was an All-Star. Sadly, she didn't live long enough to see him become an Angel.

She remains his angel. And for the many fans who watched him play the game and live his life, Winfield will always be an All-Star.

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